


Three Days

by subtextgirl



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtextgirl/pseuds/subtextgirl
Summary: Just a short filler set sometime during this week. 'It's been three days, and Charity still hasn't called her back.'





	Three Days

**Author's Note:**

> Damn it. Did not intend to go down this particular rabbit hole, but hey ho. Not a literary masterpiece, but hopefully this will get it out of my system. This was written entirely on impulse in an hour or so. Also, after thirteen years of writing in ‘American’ and working in ‘proper English’, it’s surprisingly difficult to switch back to my native northern tongue. So, apologies if it sounds a bit odd. Thank you to those of you actually writing good Vanity fic on here! Anyway…

Enough was enough, concluded Vanessa Woodfield, as she shoved her phone back into her pocket in frustration. It had been three days. Three bloody days and all she’d had from Charity was the occasional text message. Text message.  Really? And not even proper text messages. No. Some had been normal, chatty. Some had been mean. So… still normal. And at least one had been downright filthy. But nothing more. No phone calls, no random visits at work, no late night visits when the kids had been asleep, or staying with any available family member. Nothing. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t made an effort. She’d tried to call. And when that didn’t work, she’d stopped by the pub, only to be told that Charity was out… somewhere. So, after yet another attempt of nothing but voicemail, she was starting to get just a little bit pissed off.

 

She knew her girlfriend…. her train of thought stumbling for a moment at the still somewhat bizarre notion…. her girlfriend was dealing with _something_. And knowing what she did of that family dynamic, if nothing else from years of village gossip, that could mean pretty much anything. From idle chat in the village, it seemed likely it was something Debbie and that Joe Tate related. But still, three bloody days. She could at least answer the sodding phone.

 

It was voicemail number five, she reckoned, that had finally done it. Three days, two pub visits and voicemail number five, and she was striding down the street. Yeah, definitely striding. And she had a plan. Well, kind of a plan. Johnny was at her dad’s, with Tracy as a firm backup. So, yeah, a plan. She had a girlfriend to see, and she was damn well going to find her.

 

The Woolpack was busy, well busy for a village pub on a cold Wednesday night in March, as she heaved open the door, already focused on her target. She didn’t even acknowledge the smirk and raised eyebrow from Chas, the only reaction as she purposefully rounded the bar and marched through the door away from the punters and into Dingle territory.

 

The regulars stopped for a moment, some exchanging knowing looks. But if anyone clocked that she was carrying an overnight bag slung haphazardly over her slightly mucky yellow coat, her other hand clutching a bottle of white wine, no one was brave enough to say it.

 

Taking a deep breath, a better alternative than chickening out, sneaking out the back door and creeping home, she focused on the door at the top of the stairs where she was headed. Wishing she’d had the foresight to crack open the bottle in her hand before she got here, she barged through before she could change her mind.

 

Though it really shouldn’t have been, the last thing she expected to find was…. Charity. Just sitting there. On the sofa. No noise, no motion. Just Charity. Sitting there. Sitting there with the nerve to look genuinely surprised, if only for a second, that Vanessa had showed up. Three days, two visits and five voicemails, and she’s _surprised_.

 

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

 

Vanessa’s voice is dry, but she just knows her face is giving her away. It can’t not. She’s pissed off, and maybe even mildly curious, but above all, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s hurt. And she knows, from bitter experience, when it comes to that, her face doesn’t lie.

 

“I’m sorry, Ness.”

 

The sentiment comes out of nowhere and for a moment, she does a double take. Nope, it is Charity. And she’s ready to go all guns blazing, a good row, is just what’s needed sometimes. She’d come looking for it, after all. But there’s something about the way Charity is looking at her and she just… can’t. And Charity is talking again.

 

“I should’ve called you back. Or something.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s what normal people do, right?”

 

“Charity…”

 

“No. I know. You’ve got stuff going on too, and I should’ve…”  

 

“Charity!”

 

This time it was loud enough to get the other woman’s attention. But instead of rising to the challenge, Charity looks down. And whilst part of Vanessa thinks this is a good thing, as though she may have sounded assertive, in reality she has no bloody idea what to say next, the other part is just confused because this is not the woman she’s come to know. Or maybe it is, her brain suddenly insists, and it’s like a light bulb. Because suddenly she seems to know exactly what she needs to say, which is a good job really, as she can already hear herself saying it, as she drops her bag, and then the wine, on the floor, sitting gently next to her girlfriend on the sofa.

 

“I haven’t come here because I need anything from you, or because I think you need something from me.” She pauses, making sure Charity is looking at right at her. “I just missed you, ok, and I wanted to see you.”

 

She’s barely settled, in fact she hasn’t even managed to get her coat off properly, and one of her arms is now caught in the sleeve behind her back until she’s practically in a straight jacket. But then Charity is on top of her. Clutching her shoulders, lips meeting in hot, heavy air. And it’s all normal, for them at least. Or for how they started. But every instinct Vanessa has is telling her that this isn’t right, and there’s something she’s still missing. Finally freeing her other arm, she catches Charity’s hands in her own, softly forcing them both back into a seated position. Charity is looking at her with a mixture of confusion, and what, she realises with a sinking feeling, looks almost like fear. But it’s fleeting, and then the mask is back. But Vanessa knows she saw it, and the light bulb is there again.

 

“That’s not why I missed you.”

 

At this, Charity freezes. The mask vanishes again, but this time what’s left just looks blank, and somehow that’s worse, so Vanessa presses on.

 

“I know you’ve got family stuff.” She tries to smile, if nothing else to try and reassure the other woman. “And I know it’s probably a lot.”

 

She pauses again, checking that Charity is actually listening. She is.

 

“I’m not going to tell you to talk to me.” Her thumb is now rubbing gentle circles across tense hands, and she can feel the shift as a warm weight leans gradually into her side. “And I’m guessing a lot of people might’ve said this to you in the past, and some of them probably thought they meant it at the time, but I do mean it, and I’ll keep meaning it.” Curious eyes meet her own. “I’m just here. Whether you need me, or you don’t. I’m here.”

 

The weight against her increases and she absently reaches out an arm, pulling her closer.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on.” She smiles genuinely. “I probably don’t want to know what’s going on.” Her shoulder nudges Charity’s softly. “But even if you do tell me, I’m not going to tell you what you should be feeling or what you should do. Just know that you don’t have to do it alone.” She stops, looking directly at Charity. “I’m going to be here. Even when it’s all a bit crap.”

 

She doesn’t know if she’s actually said the right thing, or if she’s made any difference at all. Charity is still watching her, silent, though seemingly no longer wary. But her eyes are glistening slightly and there’s nothing else for it, as Vanessa squeezes the hands resting in her own, before placing a gentle kiss in her hair as she stands.

 

“Come on. I’ll make us a brew.”

 

**/the end**

_(or to be continued if this hasn’t got it out of my system)_


End file.
